


Pierced (Honey, I bought us matching swords)

by grabmotte



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grabmotte/pseuds/grabmotte
Summary: That was… not bad for a Cardinal.An assassination attempt. D'Artagnan dashes to the rescue - and realises something very odd about the Cardinal.





	Pierced (Honey, I bought us matching swords)

**Author's Note:**

> based on this tumblr [prompt](http://there-goes-all-the-cotton-candy.tumblr.com/post/166244681851/romantic-gesture): "Honey, I bought us matching swords."
> 
> I posted this ficlet a while ago on tumblr and decided it deserved to be archived. (I also don't want this account to feel abandoned as I continue to work on a much, much, much longer fic. :) )

“That was… not bad for a Cardinal.”

Actually, it had been amazing. A musketeer could hardly have defended himself better, but it was bad enough that, in his shock, any praise had passed d’Artagnan‘s lips at all. He was not going to sin even more by telling the truth.

“I had been destined for a military career before my brother decided grey robes suited him better than purple ones.” A smile flashed across Richelieu’s face as he stepped over the dead man at his feet. The smile was just a little too wide, his face just a little too pale to convey confidence, but it hardly mattered, as the bloodied sword in the Cardinal's hand spoke a clear language.

Even when caught off-guard he was a man to be reckoned with.

D'Artagnan watched as Richelieu produced a handkerchief the colour of his robes to wipe the blood off the shining blade. Red on red. The stains were invisible on the soft cloth.

D'Artagnan had never seen Richelieu fight before. He certainly hadn’t imagined it would look anything like that. And that sword… The Cardinal's sword looked elegant and well-balanced, but it was inornate, with a practical, fairly unremarkable swept hilt. It was something he’d expect to see in the musketeers’ garrison, not in the hands of a prince of the Church and the First Minister of France. It was no ornamental piece, that much had been proven by the fight that had just taken place and the ending of which d'Artagnan had just witnessed. He would have imagined the Cardinal, one of the richest men in France, one to whom status meant so much, to carry a flashier blade.

The one Richelieu was cleaning looked almost like - no. D'Artagnan was sure the sword looked _exactly_ like one he had actually seen in the garrison before.

“You see, I have everything under control,” Richelieu said. If his hands shook as he returned his sword to its sheeth, d'Artagnan noticed it only because his eyes were glued to that hilt. Could it be—?

“And you had better help up your friend.”

D'Artagnan shot a glance at his companion.

Aramis had gotten back onto his feet by himself, pressing a handkerchief onto the lower half of his face that rapidly stained with blood from his knows. By mere chance the musketeers had stormed into the Cardinal’s rooms the moment the Cardinal’s attacker had been retreating back towards the door. Aramis had caught a mighty blow to the face moments before Richelieu had skewered the man.

The bruising was going to look interesting.

Aramis waved d'Artagnan away when he offered a hand. A quick look confirmed that although Aramis would be attracting more women over the next few days and weeks if he wore a sack over his head rather than show his face, he was going to be fine. 

Above the stained handkerchief, Aramis’ eyes travelled from the dead body on the office floor to the Cardinal and back to the body, and d'Artagnan felt fully justified to mouth “did you see that?” at his friend.

Just at that moment a pair of Red Guards barged into the room, followed by Captain Treville, sword in hand.

D'Artagnan’s eyes bulged when he realised exactly why he thought he had seen Richelieu’s sword before. The blade, the guard, the hilt. To judge by Aramis’ confused look, either his injury was actually worse than either of them had assumed and he was concussed, or he was seeing it too.

“You’re late, Captain.” At the other side of the room Richelieu puffed himself up. He had both hands on the hilt of his sword, no doubt to hide the last vestiges of his agitation from his rival.

Looking at that hilt again…

“I am sorry. Fortunately, d'Artagnan and Aramis were quicker. I sent them the moment we realised what Caillois was up to.”

“They, too, were late.”

Treville turned towards d'Artagnan. He did not look happy.

“Caillois was already here when we arrived. Luckily, the Cardinal was able to fight him off.”

Immediately, Treville’s expression darkened. D'Artagnan didn’t blame him. Having to admit that the Cardinal had done their job for them was embarrassing. 

“You fought him off?” Treville was halfway into the room before he could control his outrage.

“Yes.” A coy smile had stolen itself onto the Cardinal’s lips.

Treville growled and D'Artagnan didn’t need to hear another word to know that it was time for him and Aramis to go. 

“The Cardinal and I will discuss what steps need to be taken regarding Caillois. In private.”

Even the Red Guards retreated before the Captain’s glare.

D'Artagnan offered a hand to steady Aramis, who still refused his help. Looking back as he closed the door behind him, he saw Treville lift a hand to the Cardinal’s shoulder. He had to be imagining it, but he thought he saw Richelieu tremble then.

He did not see anything beyond that. He didn’t hear the comforting words that were spoken, and he didn’t hear Richelieu’s protest:

“Will you calm down? I am unhurt, and I promise I will not criticise your choice in gifts again – soon.”


End file.
